


with the sun in my eyes (you were gone)

by independentwriter137



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, Childhood Friends, F/M, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, not a direct adaptation of the film or musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentwriter137/pseuds/independentwriter137
Summary: "If the rumors are true about the Drachman-Amestrian border closing completely, then he’ll be stuck with Drachman winters for the rest of his life unless he and Al get out first. Then again, the rumors also say that the lost Princess Winry Rockbell is still alive and he knows damn well that’s a lie.The 10 million cens reward for her safe return is real enough though.And maybe, just maybe the lost Princess is their ticket out of here."AKA the EdWin Anastasia AU
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 27
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [stephysketchy's EdWin Anastasia Redraw](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/625582) by stephysketchy. 



> I absolutely adore FMA and Anastasia to bits so when I saw stephysketchy's drawings on tumblr, I finally had the push I needed to write an EdWin fic. 
> 
> This fic draws from both the animated film and the Broadway musical, but doesn't follow either plotline exactly. Character dynamics are also different and not every character has a direct FMA to Anastasia counterpart. Most of the iconic moments in the film/play will definitely be here though so no worries there!
> 
> I had a blast mixing the two worlds together and I really hope you'll enjoy it too.

Five years in this godforsaken country and Ed still hasn’t gotten used to Drachman winters. He pulls up the collar of his thick red coat, but it does little to stop the cold wind from stinging his cheeks. His ports ache something fierce too, and he’s practically dragging his automail leg through the snow at this point.

If the rumors are true about the Drachman-Amestrian border closing completely, then he’ll be stuck with Drachman winters for the rest of his life unless he and Al get out first. Then again, the rumors also say that the lost Princess Winry Rockbell is still alive and he knows damn well that’s a lie.

The 10 million cens reward for her safe return is real enough though.

And maybe, just _maybe_ the lost Princess is their ticket out of here _._

Finally reaching the boarded-up back door of an abandoned theater, Ed looks around quickly to make sure no one’s watching before activating the transmutation circle that’ll grant him entrance to the closest thing he’s got to a home.

He makes his way past the moth-eaten velvet seats, occasionally stomping his feet to get some feeling back in his leg.

“Over here, Brother!” Al calls out from what used to be a stage. The light of the fire playing off his features only emphasizes how gaunt he’s become, and Ed’s stomach hollows out with guilt. Al’s on the road to recovery now, but the sickness that racked him for months certainly left its mark. Better doesn’t mean _well,_ no matter what Alphonse says.

Sometimes Ed wonders if their mother would be disappointed with how badly he’s managed to take care of his younger brother. He’s working on it though, and if his plan works, then he and Al will never have to worry about medicine or food or shelter ever again.

“Hey, Al, how you feeling today?” he asks, setting down the bag of bread rolls and smoked meat he stole before gratefully shoving his hands in front of the fire. He sighs in relief.

“Better every day,” Al says. He takes the bag and lets out a small exclamation of joy at the sight of fresh bread, tearing into a roll with gusto. Food has become a revelation to him ever since he got his appetite back. Ed shakes his head in amusement.

“How were things at the market?” Al asks.

“Same as always,” Ed shrugs, then sensing an opportunity, he adds as casually as he can, “Heard something interesting though.”

Al pauses mid-chew and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You’re scheming again,” he says flatly.

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are. You’ve got your scheming face.”

“No, I don’t!”

“ _Brother.”_

“Fine,” Ed relents, slumping slightly. “I’ve got something in the works. You’re not gonna like it though.”

“I never like conning people.”

“Yeah, well, we gotta survive somehow, Alphonse,” Ed drawls. It’s an old argument that doesn’t have any heat to it. Al does what’s necessary if he has to. They both do, though the streets haven’t quite hardened Al like they have Ed. If it were up to Ed, it would stay that way.

“’Sides,” Ed adds, “if this works out, it’ll be the greatest con in history and we’ll be so rich we can do whatever the hell we want.”

“Greatest con in history, huh?” Al says with a skeptical eyebrow raised. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

There’s no way to ease into the idea, so Ed gets to the point with no preamble. “There’s a 10 million cens reward for the safe return of Princess Winry Rockbell of Amestris.”

Al stiffens at the name and Ed knows he’s thinking of summer days playing hide and seek in the palace, of hands sticky from stealing pastries from the chef, of that terrible night here in Drachma when everything changed and their lives were upended _again_.

Ed pretends that he’s not thinking about the same things, that he didn’t stumble over the syllables of a name he hasn’t said out loud in a long, long time.

Based on the way Al’s looking at him like he’s a particularly prickly stray cat that needs to be approached with caution, he probably doesn’t succeed.

“Ed, we both know Winry’s—”

“I know,” Ed cuts his brother off because even five years later, he’s still not ready to hear the words. “But you know how people are. They don’t care about facts. They probably don’t even really care about the actual girl. It’s the rumor, the legend, the _mystery_. And it’s the _Princess_ Winry Rockbell that will help us fly. We’ll find a girl to play the part and teach her what to say. Dress her up and take her to Amestris.”

Al frowns. “Don’t you think Winry’s grandmother deserves better than that?” he asks.

“If she put out a call like that, then that means she’s willing to risk being tricked. Maybe it’ll make her happy to have the illusion of some family left in her old age—I dunno,” Ed shrugs. “One thing I _do_ know is that I’m not gonna feel bad about taking a sliver of the royal fortune so we can live someplace decent. Remember the golden diamond-encrusted plates?”

“They said we weren’t even allowed to breathe on them,” Al muses with a grimace.

“ _Exactly._ 10 million cens is nothing,” Ed says, and he can see some of Al’s reluctance fading. He pulls out his trump card. “C’mon, Al, it’s _Winry_ we’re talking about here. We knew her better than anyone. Who else could pull this off but you and me?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Brother,” Al says in a small voice, twiddling his fingers in his lap like he’s four years old again. “Do you think—do you think Winry would be mad? Taking advantage of her memory like that?”

Not a question Ed hasn’t already asked himself a dozen times over since he came up with the plan, and if he lets himself dwell on the question for too long he feels like he might drown in even more guilt. He turns his head to the side, careful to shield his expression behind his bangs, and says the truest answer he can come up with right now. “I don’t know, Al. I can’t speak for her, but I’d like to think she’d tell us to keep going.”

Al’s quiet for a long time, long enough for Ed to consider ditching the idea altogether, but then Al rubs a hand over his face and peers at Ed through his fingers. “She’d call us both dummies if she knew what we were up to,” he says.

Ed snorts. “Probably whack us over the head too.”

“You’d deserve it.”

“Hey!”

“It _is_ your idea, Brother.”

“So are you in or not?” Ed huffs.

Nodding, Al lets out a shaky breath, exasperated but determined. “Let’s pull off the greatest con in history.”


	2. Chapter 2

Win dreams of long, winding corridors and ripped dresses. Sometimes, she’s running away from something—something dark and cruel and loathsome, and she falls into the cold jaws of a nightmare. Other times, she’s chasing after someone, though she can never see the person’s face, and in all her years of dreaming, she has never caught up to them.

This time, there’s sugar on her lips and laughter in the air, her small feet are sore and her chest hurts in the best way, but then she wakes up and all that’s left of her dream is the ache.

She startles back into consciousness, dimly aware that the blueprints of the automail arm she was working on is stuck to her cheek. Pressing a hand to her heart, she focuses on steadying her breathing, on trying to quell the bone-deep sense of emptiness and longing that she hasn’t been able to shake since she first woke up in a hospital with no memory of her past. The ache never fully disappears, but it subsides enough to bear. Once the roaring in her ears has calmed, Win realizes that her unplanned nap had been cut short for a reason.

The knocking on the shop door is insistent, bordering on rude. Win’s been around automail long enough to recognize the thump of metal against wood and she grimaces when she realizes that she almost slept through her 1 o’clock maintenance session.

She can hear hushed whispers on the other side of the door, one voice trying to placate the other obviously irritated knocker. She sighs and yanks the door open.

Both men on the other side of the door jump, their blonde hair bright against the bleak Drachman snow. Win’s standard customer service greeting is on the tip of her tongue when she catches sight of the knocker’s golden eyes, aflame with barely subdued annoyance.

She blinks, the ache suddenly so intense that she can barely breathe. She _knows_ that shade of gold. She _knows_ that fire. And just like every other almost-memory she’s had, the ghost of an image feels so close and _yet—_

“Took you long enough,” the golden-eyed man asks gruffy.

—like always the memory dissipates before it can take substance and all that Win has left is a very rude customer.

“Sorry,” she says, snapping herself out of her reverie. “You must be Fullmetal. Please, come in.”

She steps aside as the two men shake the snow off their clothes and enter the small shop. The other man with Fullmetal must be a close blood relative, Win thinks, though he has a sweeter face and eyes that are tinged with green. She eyes the stiffness with which Fullmetal moves.

“Maintenance, right?” she asks, already picking up a wrench and leading them to her workspace.

“Yeah. Where’s Mr. Dominic?” Fullmetal asks.

“Automail surgery in the town over,” she says, gesturing to the chair and frowning when Fullmetal stops to eye her suspiciously.

“But I scheduled an appointment with Mr. Dominic,” Fullmetal says.

Win waves her hand dismissively. “Mr. Dominic hands me all his maintenance cases.”

“And who are _you_ exactly?”

“I’m his apprentice,” she says proudly.

“Sure you are,” Fullmetal snorts and the other man elbows him sharply in the ribs.

Win’s grip on the wrench tightens and she almost brandishes it like a weapon as her temper rears its ugly head. She is so _sick_ of being question and underestimated by guys who can’t get over their antiquated beliefs. “What?” she says defensively. “You don’t think girls can be automail engineers, is that it?”

Fullmetal scowls at her. “What the fuck does being a girl have to do with anything?”

Win falters in surprise and the other man pushes Fullmetal to the side to save the conversation.

“What Brother means is that we thought Mr. Dominic didn’t like taking apprentices?” the other man says politely, though not without his own amount of skepticism.

_Ah, so that’s it._

A wide grin settles on her features and Win’s crosses her arms across her chest, part-smug and part-challenging. “I know. That should tell you how good I am.”

Fullmetal shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head at her with renewed interest, but he still doesn’t budge, radiating stubbornness even though his ports are obviously bothering him. Well, tough luck, Win thinks, because she’s equally stubborn and won’t drop her stance if he won’t.

 _But you need the cash,_ a voice in her head whispers and she nearly huffs out loud. They hold a mini staring contest for a while before Win decides she might be willing to compromise a little.

“Look, you need maintenance done and I need to make enough money to get out of Drachma while I still can. You don’t have to trust me, but trust Mr. Dominic’s judgment. He’s got good instincts when it comes to giving someone a chance,” she says, pointedly glancing at his automail arm and leg.

Mr. Dominic hadn’t mentioned anything explicitly, but Win’s smart enough to read between the lines. Automail isn’t cheap, and Fullmetal doesn’t look nearly old enough or nearly wealthy enough to afford two automail limbs on his own. He wouldn’t be the first kid Mr. Dominic has given automail to—free of charge, of course, with maintenance sessions that cost whatever could be mustered up at the moment. The old man’s got a rough exterior, but a kind heart, and there are too many innocents here who have found themselves caught up in the Drachman-Amestrian conflict one way or another.

Sometimes, Win wonders if she’s one of them.

Fullmetal’s shoulders relax marginally as though the heaviness of his metal limbs have finally caught up to him. He glances at the other man who nods encouragingly before moving towards the chair, though the harsh slant of his mouth remains.

“Fine,” he mutters. “but do you have to wear those goggles? They’re freaky as hell.”

“Oh,” she says. She’d forgotten she was wearing them. She slides the goggles off her face, the strap catching on her bandana. She pulls off her bandana too, smoothing her fingers through her tangled hair as Fullmetal gets settled. When she looks up after retying the bandana, she finds two pairs of eyes looking at her strangely.

“What?” she asks suspiciously, but both men break her gaze abruptly and look at each other as if having a silent conversation.

“Nothing,” the other man says after a moment. “It’s just…you look like someone we’re looking for?”

“Oh yeah?” she asks as she pulls up a chair to sit next to Fullmetal. “Who’s that?”

“Ah never mind, it couldn’t be,” the other mans says dismissively, the kind of tone that can’t help but make Win wonder who exactly he’s talking about and she wonders vaguely if they could have known her from _before_. “My name’s Alphonse Elric, by the way. What’s yours?”

“Win.”

“You got a last name, Win?” Fullmetal asks.

Grimacing, she’s grateful for the excuse to focus her attention on his automail arm. “Not really. It’s just Win. It’s complicated.”

Fullmetal nods, but doesn’t press, still eyeing her with his strange golden irises. “So why do you wanna get out of Drachma so badly?” he asks.

Win is used to this part, the small talk. Most automail clients around here are always on edge during sessions, deeply uncomfortable with being left in such a vulnerable position when the streets quickly teach you to be anything _but_ vulnerable. Talking helps keep that long ingrained paranoia at bay, though she wishes Fullmetal hadn’t asked such a difficult question.

“I guess I’m looking for someone too,” she settles on. “I don’t actually remember much of my past. Amnesia—I know, crazy, right? But the crazier thing is that I know there’s someone waiting for me in Amestris.”

“Huh,” Fullmetal says thoughtfully, accepting the information more easily than she thought. “Where in Amestris you thinking?”

And _that’s_ the million cens question she doesn’t have an answer to. The most concrete memory she has is a voice telling her that they’ll meet her back in Amestris, the smell of pipe smoke strong and comforting. Aside from that, the only clue she has to her past is a silver pocket watch engraved with the date _3\. Oct. 11._ It’s the most precious thing she owns, but it still doesn’t tell her who she is or where she needs to go.

“I’ll figure it out once I finally manage to get to Amestris,” she tells him, her mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Assuming I get enough money to buy a ticket and exit papers. Those things cost a small fortune.”

The brothers exchange another look and Fullmetal’s face cracks into a wide grin.

“The thing is, Win, we’re heading to Amestris too. Brother’s here for maintenance in preparation for the trip. We actually have an extra ticker,” Alphonse says.

Hope shoots through her and Win sits up straighter in her seat, half-aware that this is probably the only time she’s ever been distracted from working on automail in her life. “Really?”

“Yeah, but the ticket’s supposed to be for that someone we’re looking for,” Fullmetal says. “And we’re thinking, you just might be her.”

Win’s brow furrows in confusion. “And who is that exactly?”

“The lost Princess Winry Rockbell.”

Win can’t help it. She bursts out laughing.

She laughs until her stomach hurts and there are tears in her eyes, Fullmetal glowering in annoyance the entire time.

“You can’t be _serious,”_ she wheezes, then sobers when she realizes there’s no trace of humor on either of their faces. “Oh my God, you _are_ serious.”

“You practically have the same name,” Alphonse says.

“Along with hundreds of other little girls named after her,” Win dismisses.

“You don’t what happened to you,” Alphonse points out.

“And no one knows what happened to her,” Fullmetal continues.

“You know someone’s waiting for you in Amestris…”

“…and the Princess _definitely_ has someone waiting for her in the palace at Central.”

“And you really do look like her!”

“Queen Sarah’s eyes!”

“King Yuriy’s chin!”

“ _That’s enough!”_ Win interrupts them, slamming her hands down on her workbench so hard that the tools shake. “I’m covered in machine grease. I’m a _mechanic._ I know I said I don’t remember much, but I think I’d remember if I was a _princess!”_

“Would you?” Fullmetal asks bluntly, gaze unnerving, and Win finds herself at a loss.

She stares at her hands, tries to imagine satin gloves on her skin instead of her work gloves but can’t. She can’t imagine that was her, and she can’t imagine that’s where she wants to be someday _._ There’s just no way she’s the Princess. She should kick these idiots out for even suggesting it. She should grab her wrench and knock some sense into them. She should turn them down and find her own damn ticket, and yet…

_And yet._

It’s the perfect opportunity to get to Amestris—an opportunity she might not get again if the borders close for good before she has enough money to get out. If she really thinks about it, she doesn’t have to believe she’s a princess as long as _they_ believe it. And if either of them try anything funny on her…well, she’s been working with heavy metal and machinery for years and she can take care of herself.

When she meets Fullmetal’s eyes again, she still can’t shake the feeling that she knows that color. The details of who and when and where and how are gone, but the funny thing about memory is that even now, after all this time, the feeling remains. There’s something about this particular shade of gold that she trusts, that makes her feel _safe—_ even if it is against her better judgment.

There might not be a better way. There might not be _any_ other way.

“I guess if I’m not the Princess,” she says carefully, “then this would all just be an honest mistake.”

Alphonse nods, “Exactly! No harm, no foul. You have nothing to lose if you try!”

“And if I am the Princess…” she says, the words still strange on her tongue, unable to make herself continue the sentence.

“…then you get a home and a family,” Fullmetal finishes.

Her heart stops. Home. Love. _Family._ There was once a time she must have had them too. And maybe…maybe she can have that again. It’s everything she’s ever wanted, the only thing she needs to fill the aching chasm in her chest. It might finally, _finally_ be within reach.

She blinks away the tears that gather in her eyes suddenly and unexpectedly.

“I could actually go home. Have a home,” she says, so caught up in her own emotions that she misses the guilt that flashes across both men’s faces. She takes a deep breath and nods once, sticking her hand out for Fullmetal to shake.

“No harm in trying. I’m in, Fullmetal.”

He raises an eyebrow, grinning in open amusement as she hastily switches hands once she remembers the wires of his right arm are still exposed for maintenance. The grip of his flesh hand is warm in hers.

“Quit calling me Fullmetal. The name’s Edward Elric.”

“Alright then. You’ve got yourself a deal, Edward Elric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing Winry's POV!!! Hope I did alright!
> 
> This chapter originally included the audition scene from Ed's POV, but it was messing with the pacing of the chapter so I ended up taking it out. Most of it is already written though, so I could post it as a deleted scene if you're interested? Either as a separate work here or on my tumblr could work if anyone wants to read it. 
> 
> And thank you all so, so much for your support so far! I appreciate it more than I can say. I can't wait for you guys to see the rest of the back story to unfold and to see /certain scenes/ from the film this is based on. 
> 
> Anyway, comments are very much appreciated! You can also find me on tumblr as indy-mickey where I post fandom stuff and talk about my fics <3

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I ended it here instead because of pacing issues. The next chapter will have the audition sequence and our favorite gearhead.
> 
> It's my first time writing these characters, so I'm still getting a feel for them and any comments/suggestions you may have would be extremely helpful! 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr as indy-mickey where I talk about fic and other fandom stuff.


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